


The Gayest Time of Year

by sambharsobs



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Christmas Movies, F/F, Romantic Comedy, basically take those Christmas romcoms and make it really gay and really stupid, crack. it's crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sambharsobs/pseuds/sambharsobs
Summary: Ingrid Brandl Galatea has to go home for Christmas to her marriage-obsessed family. She's tired of them hounding her on the one week she gets a break, so she asks her roommate Mercedes to come along for emotional support. The Galateas, however, are not prepared for what ensues.Modern AU, Hallmark Christmas Movie-inspired but gay and stupid
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 34
Kudos: 74





	The Gayest Time of Year

Ingrid has been staring at the same message on her phone for the last fifteen minutes.

_Ingy, we’re expecting you at Grammy’s house this year for Christmas. If you have a special someone, you’re more than welcome to bring him over, mom and i would love to meet him. just let Grammy know._

Ingrid is sitting on the couch of her two-bedroom apartment in downtown Fhirdiad. It's ten pm, and she's just got home after a double shift. She's tired and hungry and now, irritated.

It's not that she doesn't enjoy spending Christmas with her family. Her mother makes her incredible turkey and roasted potatoes and Grammy Galatea makes her boozy trifle that has everyone drunk at 6 pm. Her three younger brothers and her skate on the Airmid River just beside the property.

The problem is that Ingrid gets only one vacation in the year. And she doesn't want to spend it listening to her father talk about marriage the whole time.

Dating isn't a priority for her. Her job keeps her busy, and she's working her way up the company slowly and surely. Besides, she's got a nice enough roommate to help her with the rent. Marriage really isn't on her mind.

Speaking of her roommate, Mercedes emerges from their room with a soft, "Ingrid?"

She puts away her phone. "Hey, Mercie."

"You just got back?"

"Yeah. Things got delayed at the office."

"You shouldn't overwork yourself." Mercedes sits beside her on the couch, running a soft thumb along Ingrid's cheek. "What's wrong, darling?"

Ingrid sighs.

She and Mercedes started sharing an apartment earlier this year. The older woman runs a local bakery, which was where Ingrid had first met her. After several cakes and conversations, Mercedes had mentioned that she wanted to move out of her adoptive father's house. Ingrid was only too willing to share the apartment, given the delicious pastries at the shop.

Well, they've grown really close over the year, and Mercedes has gotten really good at seeing right through her.

So she says, "It's my dad. He's invited me over for Christmas."

"And?"

"Well...you know how it is. He keeps talking about marriage and boyfriends and all that."

Mercedes tsks sympathetically. "Oh, Ingrid. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nothing." Ingrid leans back and away from Mercedes' touch with a groan. "Well, nothing from Fhirdiad."

"What do you mean?"

"If you came along, then maybe it would be easier to deal with them." Mercedes has always been a comforting presence, so gentle and warm. Ingrid feels more grounded with her in her life. "But you probably have other plans."

"Not really," hums Mercedes. "Mother is off on that trip with her girlfriends to Almyra, and Emile doesn't celebrate Christmas, exactly." Ingrid's met Mercedes' tall, brooding brother. His Christmas celebration must involve some sort of blood sacrifice. "Really, I don't have any plans."

Ingrid chews her lip. "I wouldn't want to burden you. You've never met them and they can be...a lot."

"You wouldn't be burdening me at all, darling."

Soft blue eyes shine, and it grounds Ingrid. But Mercedes is so kind and so sweet, and she doesn't want to…

"You're sure that you're sure?"

Mercedes laughs, slapping her shoulder lightly. "Yes, you goof. I'm sure that I'm sure."

"Okay." Ingrid smiles. "Thank you, Mercie. Having you around may not stop the marriage talk, but it would be a lot easier to deal with."

"You're welcome, sweetie." The older woman smiles. "You're hungry? Then come on, I'll heat up dinner."

She stands up to walk to the kitchen, giving Ingrid the perfect opportunity. Grinning, Ingrid leans forward and smacks Mercedes' butt lightly.

The older woman squeaks in surprise. "Ingrid!"

It's a habit formed over the months of living together, a tease when Ingrid is feeling particularly playful. She's only felt this comfortable around Mercedes. Anyone else would have reprimanded her, and Ingrid is always careful not to behave in that way.

But Mercedes only taps the top of her head chastisingly, a sweet smile on her face.

-

On the morning of Christmas Eve, they drive down from Fhirdiad to Galatea Manor, a massive estate on the banks of the Airmid River.

Well, it used to be a massive estate. Most of it was sold after Ingrid's family fell into debt, and honestly, they haven't fully recovered yet. Judging by the way her father's company is doing, they're probably never going to.

But her Grammy ferociously safeguards the house itself, a Faerghen piece of architecture from before the Great War of Unification. The wooden manor towers over the frozen ground, Airmid River gurgling and bubbling just a few kilometres away.

As she pulls up to the gates, Ingrid's stomach bubbles uncomfortably.

Her father has been harping on about marriage and boyfriends for over six years now. She's managed to put out the fires by saying she'd choose her own partner at her own time, but if she's being honest? Ingrid doesn't want to marry anyone, not ever. After all, she's got a great job and an excellent roommate, so what more does she need?

Mercedes soothingly covers Ingrid's clenched fist over the wheel with her own, and Ingrid turns to meet gentle blue eyes.

"Easy," she hums. "It's going to be okay."

Ingrid sighs deeply, relaxing her fingers and entwining their hands. She shoots Mercedes a grateful smile.

When she pulls into the driveway, her 93-year-old grandmother stands at the porch, gripping her walking stick and the shoulder of her fourteen-year-old brother.

Ingrid hears Roger's excited, "Ingy!" even with the windows closed. She brings the car to a halt, watching in the rearview mirror how Roger helps Grammy down the stairs, barely containing his excitement.

"He's so cute," hums Mercedes.

"He's a terror," grumbles Ingrid. "Shall we?"

Mercedes presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Yes, darling."

The moment Ingrid steps out of the car, Roger launches himself into her arms, squeezing tight. Ingrid winces and steadies herself on the icy ground.

"Did you get me a present?" he asks.

"Of course I did, Roger." She pets his head absent-mindedly. Her grandmother approaches them slowly, and Ingrid walks quickly to hug her, part as welcome, part to steady her. "Hi, Grammy."

"Hello, Ingy, sweetheart." The matriarch leans back, squinting at Ingrid's form with a critical eye. "You're looking thin. You don't eat properly in Faerghus."

Ingrid laughs. "You say that every year, Grammy."

"Hmm." A displeased huff, which turns into a smile. "You must be Mercedes."

Mercedes has appeared beside her to shake Grammy's hand. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. Thank you for having me over."

"Oh, don't mention it. Come now, it's freezing. Conrad! George! Help Ingy with her bags!"

Her two brothers - aged seventeen and twenty respectively - emerge from the house, and hugs are passed all around. They're getting really big, thinks Ingrid with a pang, as they tug out Mercedes' and her bags from the trunk.

As they walk into the house, Conrad grunts, "Where is Mercedes' room?"

"Just put all of it in my room. She's sleeping with me."

Conrad comes to a screeching halt, and Ingrid and Mercedes bump into his back.

"Oi, be careful, dumbass."

Conrad turns, surveying them carefully. "You're sharing a room?"

"Yeah." Grammy had offered to clean up one of the guestrooms for Mercedes, but Ingrid didn't want the 93-year-old to trouble herself. "We share a room at my place too, Conrad. Chill."

Conrad's mouth moves, but no words come out. Mercedes smiles serenely at him.

"Yeah, Connie. They're roommates," chirps Roger, who is still clinging to her arm.

"Th-They're roommates," echoes Conrad weakly.

Ingrid smacks his shoulder. "You've never heard the word?"

"I-I have." He gives Mercedes a once-over, and then turns blankly to Ingrid. "Uh. Congratulations. G-Georgie, let's go."

Ingrid blinks at them as they climb the staircase with heavy baggage. Before she can unpack all that, however, she hears her father's voice, "Ingy, welcome."

"Hi, Dad."

"This must be Mercedes. It's our pleasure to have you."

"Thank you, Mr Galatea."

"It's no problem at all." Her father's eyes crinkle at the edges. "Why don't you two get settled, and then come down for lunch?"

"Sure, dad."

"After that, we're going skating." Roger grins at her. "Ready to get your butt kicked?"

"No way that's happening," says Ingrid, grinning.

-

Mercedes' hands grip hers tightly.

"I-Ingrid," she breathes.

"Easy," pants Ingrid. "I've got you."

Behind them, Conrad and George are having an ice skating race, while herself, Mercedes, Roger and her father are practicing small, safe circles closer to the frozen banks of the Airmid. Her father attends to Roger, too little to skate on his own, while Ingrid guides Mercedes through her first time on the ice.

Squeezing her hands comfortingly, Ingrid says, "You will fall at least once. Don't worry about it."

Mercedes pushes her shoulder lightly. "That's not comforting!"

Ingrid laughs as Mercedes half-smiles, half-frowns at her. The shaking from her laughter disturbs Mercedes' precarious balance, and Ingrid grips her hands tighter until she regains it.

"Don't be afraid," she says. A devious idea sparks in her mind, and she releases their entwined hands.

"Ingrid, what are y-"

Skating back several meters away, Ingrid holds out her hands and says, "Skate over here."

"I-Ingrid." Mercedes' sweet pout warms her up from inside. "Are you trying to make me fall?"

"No," grins Ingrid, "because you won't. Come on, come here."

With an unsteady wave of her hands, Mercedes stabilises herself without Ingrid's support. Moving one foot before the other, she begins to move, slow and unsure.

"Yes, that's it. You got this, Mercie."

Her unamused huff makes Ingrid grin wildly. So pleased is she that she nearly doesn't realise that Mercedes doesn't have any control anymore. It's Mercedes' panicked look at her that spurs her into action.

Ingrid skates forward and catches Mercedes in her arms. Mercedes braces herself against Ingrid's torso, clutching her biceps, breath shuddering.

"I got you," murmurs Ingrid, noticing the cold-pinked flush on her cheeks. "See? I told you that you wouldn't fall."

"That's after you almost made me," pouts Mercedes, and Ingrid grins.

"But you did it, didn't you? Watch, you'll be racing with Conrad and Gerogie soon."

Mercedes warily eyes her brother's zip past on the ice. "I'm not so sure about that. If they fall, they'd have a few bruises. If I fall, I don't think my back would be able to take it."

Ingrid laughs. "I'll massage your back like I do at home, then."

Mercedes shakes her head with a smile, and Ingrid notices that snow has gathered on her beautiful, long lashes.

She's shaken out of it by Mercedes' bare thumb ghosting her cheek. It's a warm touch amid the cold.

"I'm glad you're having fun. That's what the holidays are about. You seemed so tense during lunch."

Ingrid had been on edge during dinner, part due to her father's calculating gaze on her, no doubt discerning the best time to steal her away and talk about marriage. She hates it, the whole thing.

The other part was stressed because she was watching Mercedes, hoping she was having a good time. But the older woman had gotten along with the family splendidly, chatting with Grammy and mother about Christmas baking, and laughing at Conrad's terrible jokes. Ingrid is also pretty sure Roger is crushing on Mercedes, all shy and stammers around her.

She covers Mercedes' hand with her ungloved hand, slipping her fingers through and squeezing lightly.

"I'm not stressed anymore, thanks to you."

Mercedes smiles at that. Her lips seem pinker in the cold. Ingrid watches as they part, silver slivers of cold air vanishing into the air. Her mouth is perfectly shaped, and they look as soft as the rest of the woman.

Ingrid wonders, suddenly, if they would feel just as soft.

But before she can register the thought, she hears her mother calling her name. Ingrid whips around to see her standing by the banks, waving to her.

Blinking, she turns back to Mercedes, who looks away from her to fiddle with her glove. They're no longer pressed together, and Ingrid misses the warmth.

"Uh, shall we go to the banks?"

"Oh, yes." When Mercedes looks back, her eyes sparkle with a sudden brightness. Ingrid forces herself to pull them over to the banks.

"Ingy," begins her mother, "Grammy needs help with dinner, do you want to come in and help?"

"I'd love to help," chirps Mercedes.

"I'll come inside, too," says her father.

"Then I'll stay with the boys," says Ingrid, grateful not to go back in yet.

As she helps Mercedes onto the banks, the older woman throws her a teasing smile.

"I _was_ enjoying myself, you know," she says teasingly, taking off her skates and slipping into her boots. "Before you decided to make me fall."

"But you didn't fall, remember?" says Ingrid, smug.

"Terrible girl," pouts Mercedes, faux-angry, turning to leave. Laughing at her antics, Ingrid leans over to smack her ass.

The slap, and Mercedes' subsequent squeak, echoes across the ice. Birds fly out of the surrounding trees, startled.

Ingrid laughs it off, not realising that her entire family is staring at her. Mercedes, cheeks beautifully flushed, just shakes her head and walks towards the house.

Her father and mother blink at her.

"What?" Ingrid frowns. "Go on, Mercedes won't survive helping Grammy by herself."

Her mother makes a faint, high-pitched sound of assent, before grabbing her father's jacket and dragging him to the house. She sees her urgently whisper things to her father, who continues to walk stiffly.

Ingrid shrugs. They must be feeling cold.

Turning to the river, however, she notices her brothers staring at her, mouths hanging agape.

"What?" she barks.

"N-Nothing!"

-

It's Ingrid's favorite time, dinnertime.

When she and the boys troop into the house, dripping ice onto the carpet, she smells the roast turkey and the potatoes immediately. The flavours carry her to the dining table, covered in food.

She watches Mercedes set down a plate of green beans, chatting away with her mother about something, and something warm blossoms in her chest at the sight. Mercedes giggles at something, and she's beautiful.

"No ice on my carpet!" says Grammy, smacking her arm with a wooden spoon. Ingrid yelps. "Go on, all you hooligans, get changed!"

Ten minutes later, she's slipped on the sweater her grandmother knits for herself and her brothers every year. The fabric is warm but has bright, clashing colours. Ingrid doesn't mind, because it's functional and because it's tradition.

When she walks downstairs, she notices Mercedes wearing a similar sweater. In fact, it's one from a year back that Ingrid left behind by accident. The yellow and red are horribly gaudy, but Mercedes' eyes sparkle bright blue as she stands beside the dining table.

"Nice sweater," says Ingrid, sliding up next to her.

"Grammy gave it to me," smiles Mercedes, picking at a sleeve. "Something about it being a Galatea tradition."

"Yeah. Grammy is insistent that we all wear one." The warmth bubbling up her chest isn't from the sweater. Ingrid wonders if she's frostbitten. "Also - 'Grammy'?"

Mercedes giggles, reaching out to adjust her collar. "She insisted on that, too."

Before Ingrid can say anything, her mother calls, "Okay kids, food's getting cold."

Still having those weird flutters in her chest, Ingrid pulls out the chair for Mercedes, gesturing to the seat with a tilt of her head. Mercedes laughs, but leans over to press a kiss to her cheek before sitting down.

As she rubs the spot absently, Ingrid hears a clatter.

Looking up, she notices her father staring at her, eye twitching oddly. Roger dives under the table to retrieve the fork.

"Dad, are you okay?" asks Ingrid, worried. His health hasn't been so good this last year.

"He's fine, Ingy," says her mother hurriedly. "Come now, sit down."

Slipping into the chair beside Mercedes, Ingrid continues to watch her father, whose movements look like he's underwater. Before she can say anything, however, he clears his throat and announces gruffly, "Let us pray."

Clasping Mercedes' hand and Conrad's, Ingrid bows her head, waiting for her father to continue.

A long silence. Ingrid looks up, like everyone else, to see her father's mouth move unsurely.

"Dad?"

"We must be grateful during this time of year," he finally forces out. "And I have many things to be grateful for. My lovely wife, my mother, my family, all sharing a meal together. And…"

A heavy swallow.

"...and it should be known that I love you all. I have and will always love you all. Irrespective of your career path, your interests or…"

Her father catches her gaze.

"...or your sexuality. I love you no matter what."

Ingrid blinks. Everyone except Mercedes is staring at her. Even Grammy.

Her father ends the prayer.

"Uh…"

I mean, it's a nice sentiment, but what is she supposed to say?

"Let's eat?" offers Ingrid.

There's a collective Galatea nod, and everyone begins helping themselves. Mercedes opens her eyes and shoots her a dazzling smile that rattles her knees.

But then Ingrid starts eating, and everything else is unimportant.

-

And now it's everyone's favourite part of the night, where they begin to unwrap presents.

Ingrid isn't one for lavish gifts. She was raised in poverty, and she knows how expensive some of these things are. Mercedes' gift is a new set of cooking tins and measurement tools for home, all in pastel colours and made of pretty porcelain. It had cost a lot of money, but the beautiful smile on her face was worth it.

"Oh, Ingrid," she sighs, kissing her cheek softly. "How did you know?"

"Saw it in your cart," mumbls Ingrid, suddenly dizzy.

Mercedes leans back, the dazzling smile still on her lips, and Ingrid has to force herself to focus on George opening his presents.

Finally, it's her turn. Her parents buy her an anthology of seven knight's tales. Grammy gets her a shirt with little horses on it, and the boys have pooled in their money to get her a nice pair of boots.

But it's Mercedes' gift that blows her away.

Ingrid goes to the horse shelter in Fhirdiad once a week to take care of the horses and do a bit of riding. Renting out the saddle and other equipment was expensive, and so she had been looking at a few saddles. Particularly, a dark green saddle with dark brown reins.

She can do nothing but stare at the saddle in front of her, bita of shredded paper all around. Ingrid looks at the saddle, to Mercedes, to the saddle again, mouth hanging open.

"Do you like it?" asks Mercedes, shy.

"I love it," breathes Ingrid. She turns to face Mercedes again, who is smiling at her in that bright, chest-bubbling way again.

"I love you," says Ingrid, and falls into her arms.

Mercedes catches her and giggles, "I love you, too."

Her father has a coughing fit that she ignores, because she can't focus on anything except Mercedes, and the scent of lavender.

Leaning away from Mercedes, Ingrid accepts another soft kiss on her cheek, but it's difficult to concentrate with all the things buzzing through her head.

Mercedes is so gentle, so kind, so soft, so good. Ingrid has never felt safer and more welcome with anyone, and she wonders how the other woman does it. How she makes Ingrid feel like she can just be herself after so many years of making sure she was someone or something else, how she manages to make her smile with nothing but a soft pout and an armful of cakes, fresh out of the oven, how she makes Ingrid's heart pound and throat close up and cheeks blush and-

All of Ingrid's thoughts come to a screeching halt at the realisation.

She looks down at Mercedes, who is leaning on her shoulder and smiling at her mother opening her presents.

_Oh._

Ingrid swallows.

She can feel her palms sweat, so she reaches for her phone, and opens her family group chat with her brothers. She needs to be careful, because 'The Galateas' is with her parents, and 'The GaLITteas 😜" is just her brothers and her.

_SOS. Meet at the back living room._

Ingrid excuses herself and goes to the back living room, which is across the hall. Pacing from one end to another, she waits until her three brothers arrive. One by one, they appear, looking confused and worried.

"Ingy, what's wrong?"

Ingrid holds up her hand, continuing to pace along the length of the room, trying to get her thoughts in order. Conrad sits on the couch, while Roger fiddles with some hierloom statues.

"Okay." Ingrid slaps her hands together. "I think I'm in love with Mercedes."

"No shit," snorts Conrad. "Are you going to propose to her?"

Ingrid blinks. "Huh?"

"What do you mean 'Huh'? You heard Dad. They're okay with you being gay."

Ingrid holds up her hand again.

"Oh, great, she's pacing again," groans George.

The pieces are, very slowly, falling into place. Ingrid's brain hurts from solving the puzzle.

"So to clarify." Ingrid rubs her face once. "You all think I'm dating Mercie. For which dad gave us his blessings. And that I'm going to propose."

"Yes," chorus her brothers.

Ingrid holds back a groan, or a scream. She's not sure herself.

"Guys. I'm... We're not in a relationship. We are literally just roommates."

"Hold up." Now it's Conrad's turn to put a hand up. "But you two share a room."

"Because the other room has a bunch of Mercie's art stuff and my gym equipment."

"Hang on," says Roger, holding up his hand. "What about all the kissing?"

"We...It's a sign of affection. Platonic affection."

"Wait." George's hand goes up. "The ass slapping?"

"That's...uh, that's also a platonic sign of affection."

Three sets of eyes blink at her.

"I'm serious."

A silence.

And then three voices break out in unison:

"The ass slapping is _platonic_ , she says! Just between two _gals_!"

"But you guys act so, so, _so_ gay around each other."

"What the fuck, Ingy?!"

Ingrid shushes them. "Shh! She'll hear!"

"Hear what?" hisses George back. "That you're a dumbass?"

"Georgie!"

"I'm sorry, Ingy, it doesn't make sense. How did you make the most homosexual thing I've seen heterosexual?"

"But that's not the problem," hisses Ingrid. "The problem is that I think I love her, like. For real."

"Ohhh," mocks Conrad, rolling his eyes. " _Now_ you love her? What happened to just roommates?"

"Things...uh…"

"It was the fucking saddle, wasn't it."

"Shut _up_ , Georgie, and help me," says Ingrid. "What do I do?"

Conrad grabs her shoulders and brings them face-to-face. "Just tell her. Ingrid, the two of you literally behave like you've been dating forever. Just. Tell. Her."

"But...what if she doesn't feel the same way?"

Roger sighs. "Ingy?"

"Yes, Roger?" asks Ingrid, hopeful for a piece of good advice.

"You're stupid."

-

Ingrid is nervous.

Christmas has just rolled in, and she's taking a girl that she's apparently been dating to the terrace to ask her if she wants to date for real.

This is not how she thought her Christmas would go.

Mercedes, for her part, seems more excited than nervous, walking out onto the terrace with a soft gasp of surprise. Snow is falling down gently from the heavens, coating the floor in a thin layer of white.

Ingrid cannot help but stare at the reflection of the sky in her eyes.

She needs to say something, before this newfound courage fizzles out.

So she clears her throat and states, "Mercedes."

"Yes, darling?"

And that takes all the air out of her lungs. Roger was right. She's so stupid.

Cradling Mercedes' soft fingers in her own, Ingrid repeats, "I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that, Ingrid. You're very clever."

Ingrid chuckles at her boots.

"What's wrong, darling?" Mercedes cups her cheek, tilting her head up to face her beautiful lips again.

"I think I love you." It escapes as a puff of silver air.

Mercedes' eyes widen.

Ingrid waits, bracing for the worst.

Instead, Mercedes kisses her, and oh. Her lips are as soft as they look. They warm her up from the inside, the bubbling in her chest spilling out and melting the snow all around.

Mercedes leans back, trembling in the cold, and whispers, "I think I love you, too."

"Oh." Ingrid is shivering, from the missing warmth. "Okay."

And she surges forward to kiss her again, this time pulling her closer and accepting her tongue into her mouth. The hot, wet contact sends shivers up her spine, and she grips Mercedes' hips tighter, closer, more.

When they finally break apart, Ingrid's head is spinning.

Mercedes rests their foreheads together, and sighs, "I've been waiting to do that for a long time."

"Really?"

"Yes," she giggles.

Ingrid would not have minded kissing Mercedes earlier. "Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to rush you." Mercedes smiles. "You were already so busy with work."

"Okay." Ingrid pinches her eyebrows, hard. "Next time, just tell me. I'll...I'll make time."

Mercedes giggles. "Okay."

"Is...Is there something you want to clarify with me?"

"May I call you 'Ingy'?"

"No."

"Please? It's such a cute name."

"Absolutely not."

"Aww, you're no fun, darling."

The nickname sends shivers down her spine still, so Ingrid decides to kiss her again. Mercedes giggles against her lips, thumbs coming up to stroke her cheeks, and Ingrid wants to kick herself for missing out on this for so long.

So when Mercie slips her tongue into her mouth, she reaches down to tap her ass. After all, that's not platonic, is it?

**Author's Note:**

> don't expect quality from me anymore this is it from now
> 
> My [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sadsambharsobs)!


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